Sortis
by StarWalker42
Summary: A collection of drabbles and snippets from throughout the years of Mulder and Scully's relationship. Ratings may escalate.
1. February 2000

**Summary** : A collection of drabbles and snippets from throughout the years of Mulder and Scully's relationship. Ratings may escalate.

 **Disclaimer** : I don't own The X-Files or anything I may mention in the following text. (Side note: are these actually necessary?)

 **A/N:** More X-Files trash in no particular order. This is basically going to be a place to drop all of my one shots and snippets when I can't be bothered to turn them into full stories- there are _a lot_ , because Mulder and Scully own my ass. I'm thinking of doing one for Han and Leia, too. And if anyone has any suggestions, feel free to drop them by me on here or Tumblr! Enjoy and don't hesitate to review x

* * *

 **Sortis**

Astra inclinant, sed non obligant.

 _The stars incline us, they do not bind us._

* * *

NATIONAL PARK, MARYLAND 20th FEBRUARY, 2000

It feels like the most natural thing in the world to reach out and hold Fox Mulder's hand in this gentle, earthly silence, so she does so without thinking.

She catches herself an instant too late, and her fingers are wrapped around his before the thought of any consequences reach her mind, so she stays perfectly still and tries to act like nothing has happened.

Mulder looks at her. She can't meet his eyes.

"My stories got you scared, Scully?"

Truth be told, she hasn't been listening to him at all for the last few minutes, but he can't know that. Instead she tries to act nonchalant and settles for her _de facto_ response to whenever he renders her speechless.

"Shut up, Mulder."

She tries to pull her hand from his, but to her surprise he tightens his grip; not enough to prevent her from moving away if she chooses, but enough to tell her that he wants her there, he likes the contact.

Sparks travel up her arm, reminding her of the way her lips had felt when he kissed her on New Year's and sending warmth to her heart. She keeps her hand in his, still avoiding eye contact, and lets him entwine his fingers with hers.

They've held hands before. This isn't anything new.

So why is her heart racing so much?

They both fall quiet, letting the birds and trees make conversation as they keep walking. The forest is beautiful. They haven't passed anyone for over half an hour, and here, on the beaten track surrounded by dappled sunlight and sir still with reverence, the world seems to become obsolete. There is only her, him, the hushed noise of nature and the steady pulse of their hearts, felt through two hands, interwoven.

She feels safe.

She feels safe, and she can't remember the last time that happened.

Mulder's thumb begins to rub over her hand in gentle, absent-minded circles, only relaxing her muscles more. Again, it feels natural, and despite the novelty within a minute or so it's as easy as breathing. Isn't everything with him?

The ground starts to level out, relieving them of the uphill slope they have been climbing for the past few minutes, and now, as the path starts to head into the open, Mulder steps behind her and covers her eyes.

"Mulder!" There's laughter in her voice even as she complains.

He keeps his hands in place. She can hear him smiling. "Keep walking, Scully."

"I can't see where I'm going. I'll fall over."

"Okay, just keep your eyes shut." Mulder tells her, dropping his hands to her shoulders and squeezing once, briefly. "Humour me."

They walk like that, his hands guiding her as she places blind faith in him once more. With her eyes closed, Scully's other senses are heightened; she can feel the heat from Mulder's hands seeping through her jacket, and the sounds of the birds in the trees seem to intensify as they walk, filling her entire being.

It seems like both eternity and the briefest of moments before Mulder applies the slightest pressure to her shoulders, and she knows him well enough to know he means _stop_. They stay in silence for a second before she feels his voice, warm and light against her neck, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.

"Open your eyes."

She does. They are at the top of a hill, sheltered on either side by evergreens stretching out over the drop off in front of them. Large boulders form a barrier between them and the slope downwards, not impassable but still a challenging obstacle to continuing onwards. Not that she particularly needs, or wants, to, though: the view from here is stunning.

Even though it's still winter, the sky is clear and the sun warms her face as she looks out over the forest ahead. The trees are evergreen and deciduous alike, creating a mismatched pattern over the rolling hills, and she squints out at the blanket of branches and leaves, trying to measure the distance in her mind. There's not one sign of human life- the woodland lies untouched, pure, perfect, in stark contrast to the sprawling city of DC.

"Like it?"

"It's beautiful." It's an understatement. Even the bare, barren trees have a sense of ancient beauty about them, and they spread as far as she can see, over the hills into the distance, an ever shifting mix of greens and browns that remind her of Mulder's eyes.

The cool breeze stirs the hairs against her neck, and when she raises her hand to automatically push the strands behind her ear she is shocked by the presence of his fingers there already, doing the job for her. He plants a whisper of a kiss to the now exposed skin there as his hand returns to rest on her shoulder, and she wonders if he can feel her pulse thrumming beneath the surface.

"Happy birthday, Scully."

She doesn't know what makes her do it. Maybe it's the silence, or the warmth of the sun, or the happy singing of the birds all around them. She's been in many beautiful places with him, and he's created even more inside of her with his presence, but none compare to this moment right here. This moment where anything feels possible, and she's never felt more alive. Maybe, in the end, that's why she does it.

She turns to face him and his hand moves to her cheek, not moving, just resting there and waiting for her to make the next move.

Scully feels her lips drift upwards as she guides Mulder's face down to hers, and once they meet in the middle she can feel him smiling back. It is their second kiss, but their first for any number of reasons.

Their first initiated by her, their first that they both knew was coming, their first away from prying eyes… their first _real_ kiss.

She had almost forgotten what his lips felt like- those seconds on New Years' didn't last nearly long enough, and by the time she'd come to her senses and tried to memorise every detail he was already pulling away. This time there's no rush, but her mind goes blank again, because this is _Mulder_ she's kissing, Mulder who she's loved and hated and fought with and fought for and fought beside for all this time, Mulder who she will gladly give her life for, Mulder who makes her feel a way no one ever has done previously… and then he breaks them apart, and she curses herself for not paying attention.

He is about to say something but she uses a new method to shut him up, capturing his lips with her own again and this time focussing on every breath, every movement, every spark of heat and love flying between them. Mulder shuts up a lot more willingly that usual.

The kiss feels like the past seven years and all the heartache and joy and horror they entailed all rolled into one. He tastes of sunlight and stars and every answer to every question she has ever asked, which makes sense because he _is_ the answer to most of them, and the entire world crystallises into this one, perfect moment where nothing else matters.

It feels like coming home.

It isn't even her birthday yet.


	2. November 1998 (Triangle)

**A/N:** People seem to be reading these, so I'll keep going. Again, these are in no particular order, and I have no idea how often I'm posting them, but the chapter titles are going to be dates or episodes so hopefully that makes up for the confusion. Thank you to the people who are reading and reviewing- I hope you enjoy!

* * *

BERMUDA, NOVEMBER 16th 1998

 _I love you. I love you._

I love you.

You've heard those words before. From different people, sure, but they're not new, not novel, not particularly surprising. In short, it's not a new sentiment, and therefore it shouldn't be doing what it's doing to your heart right now.

Mulder would laugh if he knew how much three little words from him can affect you.

Not that he necessarily meant it like that. Or meant it, period. Mulder is emotional- _impulsive_ \- at the best of times, and what with the drugs they're pumping into his system maybe his last inhibitions were thrown out of the window. It was the medication speaking. God knows he's been speaking nonsense since you and the Gunmen pulled him from the water, so why should this be any different?

 _But,_ the little nagging voice at the back of your head chimes in, _but, but, but._

To him it sounded like a big deal. You can read his eyes so well it's ridiculous, and what you saw there was hope, a depth you'd never seen before, and something new. As he gazed into your soul, you gazed back and saw... what? Was _that_ love? The way the gold in his eyes flickered in the light and seemed to smile while telling you _it's okay_ and _I missed you_ and hundreds of other unrecognisable things besides in less than a heartbeat?

Whatever it was, it took your breath away. And you rejected him despite of it.

 _What the hell was I_ supposed _to do?_ You ask yourself.

Yes, you love him- that's not questionable, it's the truth and you know it- but you can't just _say_ that. Because what might happen then?

And what if it _was_ just the medication talking?

You realise you've been sat in your car outside for a good ten minutes, and slam your hand down on the steering wheel. Goddamnit, Mulder.

Your mind drifts inexplicably to Diana Fowley. You wonder if Mulder ever told her _I love you_ from a hospital bed, his hand grazing her hip and sending sparks up her body. But that train of thinking is taking you places you don't want to go- to his apartment, at dusk, Diana moaning his name into the beautiful sculpture of his chest, his heady voice gasping to her _don't stop_ , the air hot and thick and electric.

Stop.

You can't. It keeps playing in your head like a record getting caught; him, her, a bed, his couch, drinks, kissing, touching, honey coloured skin and muscle rippling beneath the surface...

 _Stop._

Damn you, Mulder. Damn you, damn you, damn you.

When you can breathe again, you force all images of him out of your mind. It's never been easy, and it's even less so now, but you'd win every award there is for trying.

You have to go back to work. Get some more background checks done. Maybe Frohike can pick him up when he's given the all-clear- you won't have to see him again for another few days, and by then you'll have processed everything well enough to act like nothing's happened. He probably won't even remember.

That voice is there again. _What if that's the problem?_


	3. July 1996

**A/N:** First exam down! I'm going to celebrate with a new chapter that I've been working on, because I finally have a bit of time to write. This chapter came in part from a novel I read a while ago, and also that I'm pretty sure it's never mentioned if Scully can swim or not (if anyone can correct me on that, please do) but we know Mulder is a regular swimmer. And Speedo wearer. ;) Enjoy!

* * *

WASHINGTON D.C., JULY 8TH, 1996

The fan from upstairs has broken. On one of the hottest days of the year. And, with management being what it is, no one has sent down a replacement, despite the request for one being put in over three days ago, so the basement is boiling hot.

Dana Scully is sweaty, tired, and desperately trying to to think up a way to tell Mulder that one of the X-Files now has a permanent crease across the middle since she's been using it as a makeshift fan. He ducks through the door and she tries not to notice the way his shirt hangs open from the top two undone buttons. She checks the clock and decides that half four is a decent enough time to call it a day, sliding the file into a drawer.

"I'm going to head off early, I can't work in this heat."

"I was thinking of doing the same myself." Mulder kicks the dead fan with obvious displeasure but makes no comment. "Going swimming at the Dunbar. You want to come?"

Swimming?

Of course. Of _course_ Mulder goes swimming. She's surprised she hasn't worked it out before, and even more surprised he's never mentioned it.

"I can't."

"You can't swim?"

She gives him a look universally understood to mean 'really, Mulder?' and wants to punch him for being such a smart ass, but stops herself.

"I can't come with you."

"Why not?"

"I..."

 _/darkcoldcan'tbreathecan'tmovehelpsomeonehelpmei'mgoingtodieohjesusjesusgodsomeonehelp/_

The memories come rushing in but she forces them away, trying to keep her voice steady. She is not going swimming. She just can't. But she can't tell Mulder why.

"I can't, Mulder, I'm sorry." _Please drop it_ , she begs him silently.

He does so, though he's reluctant about it. "Okay. See you tomorrow."

She watches him leave before getting up to gather her things. Her blouse is sticking to her back, and the hair at the back of her neck is damp from perspiration. What she wouldn't do for a cold shower. Or some air conditioning. Or even a swim in a nice, cool, pool...

Scully sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. It's ridiculous. She needs to face her fear, not run from it; she hasn't been swimming in almost fifteen years, and it's stupid. Nothing is going to happen. However much she says that, though, her heart still clenches in dread even at the thought of following Mulder, and then she remembers that she doesn't have a swimming costume, and that it would be so much nicer to go back to her apartment and just watch TV.

But seeing Mulder shirtless, in the pool, could possibly be a whole lot nicer than even that.

That does it. She's going.

xXx

She hasn't rang him, but she finds him easily enough anyway, exactly where he said he would be, cutting laps through the practically abandoned pool. It's still early- there are a few older women at the far end, doing more talking than swimming, and a group of kids splashing around, but otherwise it's empty. Scully's glad for that. She's not sure how well she'd cope surrounded by people.

Mulder sees her halfway through a length, and manages to inhale water in his surprise. She can't keep herself from smirking as he coughs and comes over to the side. He squints up at her, wet hair plastered to his forehead.

"Are you here for a reason, or just to laugh at me?"

His eyes on her make her body go hot, because it's the first time she's ever seen him look at her _like that_. She knows the material of the swimsuit is tight, and that he's never seen her in something this figure-hugging before, but it's definitely not the most revealing option from the shop at the reception. And he _shouldn't_ be looking at her like that, it's unprofessional. Despite that, she feels her own eyes gravitating downwards, and lets herself indulge for a moment in his glistening skin and hard muscle. When she raises her eyes again he's watching her, and she realises he's waiting for an answer.

"I came to join you. I figured the offer still stands?"

He heaves himself out of the water and sits at the side, his legs dangling in the water. She joins him, wincing as the cold water hits her feet.

"So you _can_ swim?"

"Mulder, my father was a navy captain."

"I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure the navy helps you stay on the boat, not what to do if you've fallen off it."

"I can swim." She clarifies.

"But?"

 _/dark night so late going to get caught jimmy the lock the door squeaks oh god what are we doing i can't do this daddy would kill me but oh god it's so exciting is that my heart racing it's so quiet and dark chlorine in the air and it stings/_

She takes a deep breath. "When I was in high school, my friends and I... we broke into the pool after dark."

Mulder's eyes widen. "Dana Katherine Scully, are you telling me you broke the law?"

She gives him a look well honed with time and practice, but there's a smile forming on her face. "That's not the point, Mulder."

"What _is_ the point?"

"My boyfriend at the time thought it would be fun to take me to the deep end and throw me in."

Mulder's breath hitches.

"And in that moment, my mind went blank. I couldn't feel the bottom and I forgot how to swim, and I thought..."

/ _need air need air need air am i dying i can't oh god oh jesus bubbles hair water so much water so dark where's up find air i'm going to die so deep i'm sinking i'm sinking i can't swim i need air help me god why why why did we do this my lungs my throat oh god oh god oh god/_

With gritted teeth, she forces the memories away, trying to detach them from where she is now and keeping that scared sixteen year old firmly fixed in the past.

"My friend jumped in and pulled me up. I was fine but it scared me so much and I..."

 _/all the water i can't breathe my chest aches i can't get me out i'm going to drown i can't swim never doing this again never ever jesus i could've died/_

No, no, memories and fear coming back, stop that right now-

"It's stupid. I shouldn't be worried, it's irrational, I don't know why I let it stop me from-"

"Woah." Mulder touches her arm, and it would be perfectly normal and fine if they were not both half-naked and his body was not glistening with water. "It's okay to be scared. It's a common fear, you know."

"Yeah, but Mulder-"

"Hey, who's the Oxford educated psychologist here?"

Her lips quirk, despite her best efforts. He smiles and nudges her shoulder.

"Please at least tell me you dumped the guy."

This time Scully laughs out loud, and the sound echoes off the tiles and the water. "I did a bit more than that."

"Was that the last time you went in the water?"

She nods, falling quiet as she watches the ripples her feet create in the water. She can feel Mulder's eyes on her, and jumps a little when he slips into the pool with no warning. He moves in front of her and holds out a hand.

"It's shallow here. You can touch the bottom."

Sensing her doubt, Mulder stands up, out of the water, and shows her just how shallow- his entire chest is above the surface before he ducks back down, jumping a little to keep warm.

"See? Trust me."

She takes his hand and slides off the side until she's touching the bottom, her back pressed to the wall. The water is cool and refreshing on her skin.

"Okay?"

"Okay."

He squeezes her hand once before letting go and floating onto his back away from her. That man's chest could be in an art gallery.

Shit, Dana, focus.

Uncertain, she walks after him, trying to ignore the fear that begins to clench inside her stomach. The water glares up at her, undulating in its dazzling, blinding way, and she fights the urge to run.

"Hey, look at me."

Mulder's back now, just an arm's breadth away, and she raises her eyes to find his. They catch the light so differently to the water, sparkling and fluctuating between dark green and hazel, grounding her with their familiarity.

"Do you remember how to swim?"

"In theory."

She prepares herself and then kicks off from the wall, trying to keep her head above water while moving her arm and legs in the way she remembers. It's okay until she remembers that she's in a pool, and it's deep, and the way water rushed up into her mouth and the pressure on her chest-

"Hey," Mulder's arms catch her from behind and she relaxes into his chest without a second thought. "You were doing really well."

"I can't do it."

"Bullshit." Mulder grabs her hands and spins her around so they're facing one another. "You can do it."

She can feel herself starting to panic, as more and more memories come back from that night, as her body remembers the sensation of almost drowning and the fear that shot through her.

"I'm not going to let you get hurt, Scully."

"I know."

And she does. Mulder would never let her get hurt. He values her safety above all else, above his own, and as long as she's with him she can feel safe. She trusts him.

"Try on your back," Mulder suggests. "Then you can't see the water."

She breathes deeply and then turns around, kicking back to rest on the surface. Mulder's hand comes to gently support her head, keeping it above the water.

"Put your arms out, try to relax."

More deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth, the way Missy taught her. She forces the tension in her body to ease. Mulder's got her, and he won't let go.

"That's it," he encourages. "Just raise your hips a little."

The amount of concentration required is ridiculous, but she's managing to do it. And it actually feels okay. Not comfortable, exactly, but safe. Mulder's hands are so big he only needs one to hold her head, while the other one barely grazes her shoulder. If it wasn't for him, she wouldn't be here, but she can't imagine doing this without his support. He's patient and careful, and Scully suddenly wonders if he ever taught Samantha to swim, if he did this with her, if he's remembering it now. She doesn't ask, just keeps floating, closing her eyes as she becomes more used to the water around her. She begins to see how people could find this relaxing.

Eventually, Mulder lets go, and then she's floating by herself as he hovers nearby. He shows her how to swim on her back, then pulls her forward while she's on her front, and finally Scully summons the courage to try it again by herself. She keeps protesting and apologising, and threatens to leave several times, but Mulder always talks her round. Later, they're both doing laps across the shallow end, and Scully's smiling and laughing, which she would've thought impossible not two hours earlier. Mulder sees the time out of the corner of his eye and stops, grabbing Scully's arm.

"OAPs hour in about five minutes."

She hangs onto the side and raises an eyebrow. "Are you saying that to get rid of me?"

"No." Mulder hauls himself out of the pool and Scully tries hard not to look up at his ass. (Or his thighs. Or his back. Or any other part of Fox Mulder's body that she apparently cannot resist ogling at.) "Come on, G-Woman."

He helps her out of the water, even though she can get out by herself perfectly well (and they both know it), and they head back to the changing rooms. After getting his clothes from the locker, Mulder turns to Scully and smiles, a little shy.

"Thanks for showing up."

"Thank you. I enjoyed myself."

"Do it again sometime?"

Scully mirrors his smile. "Maybe."

He nods with a shrug. "Then I'll see you on Monday. Unless you're planning on showing up unannounced at my apartment."

She's already on her way to the showers. "You never know, Mulder," she calls over her shoulder.

He watches her go, unable to wipe the grin off his face. He can't wait to do this again. He pretends it has nothing to do with how good Scully looks in that swimsuit.


	4. August 1993

**A/N:** An earlier snippet this time, that randomly came to mind during one of my history classes. Mulder/Scully banter is the best. (Speaking of college, I have a lot of deadlines  & exams coming up, so I may not be posting as often. Sorry in advance!)

* * *

J. EDGAR HOOVER BUILDING, AUGUST 1993 

Scully was falling to sleep. Whether she hadn't eaten or had merely skipped her coffee this morning, her attention wasn't what it should've been. Every so often her head would droop a little, and Mulder would watch with a smile as she snapped alert again several seconds afterwards.

Mulder didn't know why, or when, he started watching her in these meetings, surrounded by other agents in more respectable positions than them, listening to the guy at the front like they were back at Quantico having a lecture.

The man- Mulder thinks his name's Hudson, but he wasn't exactly paying attention at the start- was currently explaining 'efficiency' and 'the benefits of preparation', but his voice was a drone at the back of Mulder's mind as he increasingly lost focus on his notes and watched the back of Scully's head, studying her posture for the tell-tale signs of her obvious exhaustion.

The meeting this morning had started at nine, and he'd been running late, so they hadn't exchanged a word so far today. He'd rang her on Saturday morning about a file, but other than that they hadn't spoken for almost 48 hours.

He didn't know when he starting paying attention to _that_ , either. Or when it had begun to matter.

"Hey, Spooky."

The man at the front clicked his fingers. Mulder blinked and jerked back to the room just in time to hear the other agents' snickers.

"Head in the clouds?"

Before Mulder could formulate a reply, someone behind him commented not-so-quietly, "Up in the sky with his aliens."

More laughter.

He was used to this by now. Normally he didn't even bother to shut them up, just sat there and took it as it was. Sometimes he'd try a joke or some wry reply, but today he just didn't have the effort. As the rest of the room quietened down, he glanced up at Scully, to find her looking back at him.

Before she turned back to the front, he saw the unreadable expression on her face and noticed the way her pencil was tapping on the desk.

xXx

"Ever heard of the Virginian Ennui Monster? Apparently it makes its victims so bored they tear their own eyes out."

Scully shot him a look as she hung up her coat. "No. Why?"

"I'm pretty sure we've got one working in the human resources department."

She tried her best to look disapproving, but but he saw her lips quirk upwards for a second. "I'm not sure Agent Hudson would be gratified with your assessment."

"What did he want to talk to you about?"

Instead of answering, she walked through to the side room to deposit her bag. A pause, but still no reply.

"Scully?"

Mulder heard her sigh.

"He wanted to let me know that regardless of your _lack of esteem_ in the Bureau, my career record is as yet undamaged and has had little impact on his treatment of my case reports and expenses."

"So what did you say?"

Before meeting Dana Scully, Mulder had never thought it possible that someone's smile could actually outshine the sun. Now he understood the poetry.

"I told him to stick his lack of esteem up his chauvinistic ass."

Sometimes he was glad he met her. Sometimes? Okay, a lot of times.

She was smart, funny, witty, and for whatever reason she even seemed to like him. She'd already saved his ass countless times, and had stopped him from charging off into danger even more. Without her, he would probably have been out of the Bureau within a matter of months. And even if she _was_ sent down to debunk his work, to get rid of him... if anything, she had become his closest friend in the building (not that that was saying much), and, more importantly, he trusted her.

He'd known for a long time that it didn't take much for her to get riled up, but it was usually him she was getting angry at. Never before had she actually defended him to one of the guys upstairs. Mulder wasn't entirely sure what that meant.

"Why did he call you out like that, anyway?" Scully asked, taking a seat on the workbench that ran across the back of the room. She seemed unfazed by what she'd just said, like it wasn't anything new.

It hit Mulder that maybe it wasn't.

"They're all part of the conspiracy against me?"

He expected her to roll her eyes or just sigh, but instead she gave him a teasing smile.

"You mean the one I'm part of?"

"Something like that, yeah."

He could feel himself grinning back. Damn it. He's not supposed to like people.

She nudged his chair with her foot. "What's our next case, Spooky?"

"I still maintain we should launch an investigation into Agent Hudson."

She just laughed. "Maybe next week."


	5. December 1999

**A/N:** A tiny snippet that was meant to be part of something bigger but didn't work. Because we never see Mulder and Scully shopping for presents together or doing cute date-y things, and I need something happy.

* * *

WASHINGTON D.C. 4th DECEMBER 1999

"You want coffee?"

It's half eleven. There are plenty of little coffee shops just off the high street, and while you're not normally one for mid-morning caffeine, you know that Scully's only got a few more presents to buy and you're not quite ready to leave her company yet.

She looks happily surprised at your proposal. "If you're not in a hurry."

"No. No, I've got all day."

Too eager. Dial it down next time.

She doesn't seem to notice. "Okay, then. Where were you thinking?"

"Your pick."

Scully tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and stops right in the middle of the concourse. "I know somewhere on 14th Street."

"Sure."

xXx

You never have drinks together, not unless there's an occasion or you're waiting for a contact. You go out for lunch sometimes, or even more rarely dinner, but totally veer away from the classic awkward date scenarios. The cinema. Shopping. Going to the park. Evenings at each other's apartments or having a day out or a million other things besides. Going to quaint out-of-the-way coffee shops with wobbly tables and worn leather couches and non-matching mugs.

She orders hot chocolate with cream and you do the same, because three cups of coffee in one morning is a lot, even for you, and your mind goes blank when you see Scully smile at the woman behind the till. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold and there's a fine dusting of snow over her shoulders and hair; combined with that beautiful smile, it's enough to make you almost forget what you're doing.

You want to kiss her bright red ears and warm her tiny hands with yours.

You busy yourself with the money in your wallet instead.


	6. May 1999 (alternate timeline)

**A/N :** I'm back! _Finally_ completed my coursework for this year, so now just June exams to go, thank god. AND WE'RE GETTING TEN NEW EPISODES! Thanks to all of you for sticking around and reviewing- may be worth shamelessly promoting myself on AO3 as well, so from now on you can find me as starwalker42 there, too. Hope you enjoy this little piece, which isn't canon but I wish it was. (Also, if you're wondering where the dates are from, check out The Marek's X-Files timeline and Arcadian Petri Dish's post/150569790355/the-per-manum-timeline on Tumblr, which I'm using as canon because CC can't be bothered to date things.)

* * *

Happy Successful IVF Alternate Timeline (I'm setting it somewhere around Field Trip)

WASHINGTON D.C., May 1999

He gets her call in the office, and keeps the phone propped between his shoulder and his ear as he spirals a pencil between two fingers.

"Mulder, it's me."

Everyday, normal Scully. No trace of excess sadness or joy in her voice. What does that mean?

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah," she replies quickly- too quickly? "I don't think I'll come back to the office, if that's okay with you."

He glances at the clock. It's just past five, and while it's not usual for him, he can easily shut down the basement early for the night. It's not like he can get much work done worrying about her, anyway.

"Yeah, yeah. I've about wrapped up here myself."

Mulder thinks he hears the twerk of her lips in her response, and his heart races at the prospect of good news.

"Could you meet me somewhere? The coffee shop?"

'The'. Purposefully using the definite article because she knows that he knows where she'll be. _Communication_ , he thinks to himself with a smile. _Like that, unspoken_.

"I'll see you in ten." He says aloud into the receiver.

Scully hangs up.

He grabs his coat.

XXx

She's already at a table- _the_ table- when he arrives. He slides into the free chair, shrugging off his coat.

"Sorry I'm late. I was sightseeing."

Her eyebrow quirks. "'Sightseeing'?"

"Washington D.C.," he announces, spreading his hands in the air ahead of him. "Seen at the dizzying speed of 5mph, surrounding by traffic."

Scully smiles, and he feels himself relax a little.

"Seriously. I got a gradual 360° view of that new Ford Escort. Let's hire one of those next time we're out on a case, huh?"

He doesn't really care about cars. Hell, she probably knows more about them than he does. But he needs to joke, even just for a minute, because he's been shaking all the way here. He's well aware he's been talking at above average speed, and despite his best efforts finds that his hands are trembling again.

Scully reaches out and wraps her fingers around his. Why is she always so difficult to read? All he wants to know if it's good or bad news.

The way her voice cracks when she speaks makes his heart clench in dread, but then her laugh, her wonderful, beautiful laugh, tells him all he needs to know.

"It worked, Mulder." She tells him. "They have the embryos ready."

For a long moment, it's almost too much to absorb- he just stares at her before finally asking, "Really?"

"Really." Her smile is so bright he feels dazzled. She squeezes his hand and he grips hers back. "They say the chances are good. They're healthy and they're growing normally."

"When…when can you…"

"I have an appointment for Monday."

Monday. Monday. In three days, she will be pregnant. She'll have a life inside of her, a life that's equal parts him and her, a tiny cluster of cells dividing and multiplying until it becomes a human being. It sounds like magic. Maybe that's what it is.

The table is in the way. He wants to throw his arms around her and lift her up, spin around and cheer.

"Hey," Scully says, nudging his foot under the table. "You okay?"

He looks at their entwined fingers on the table, and notes that he's still shaking. Then, a moment later, he realises that she is, too.

Raising his eyes to meet hers, he becomes newly aware of their surroundings. The coffee shop is too loud, too busy. He longs for the peace of her apartment, where words can be whispered and heard with ease, where the only living presences are the two of them, quiet and breathing together and communicating through the slightest touch and movement.

Keeping his eyes on hers, he carefully mouths the three words rushing through his mind and his heart.

"I love you." It's so quiet even he can't hear it. But he knows from the way she smiles and the tightening of her fingers around his that she's read his lips.

She brings his hand to her lips and kisses it, slow and long. Her voice tickles against his skin.

"Want to get out of here?"

He gives a smile and cups her cheek with his hand. The pulse of her neck flitters like a butterfly as he strokes her hair.

"Yes."

xXx

He makes love to her that night, passionate and gentle and so reverent that she feels like a god under his touch, feels worshipped in a way she's never even dreamed of before.

At one point she mentions that normally people do kissing and sleeping together _before_ making a baby, and he replies that they are anything but orthodox.

Their lips and their bodies meld until they are one being, one entity, illuminated by moonlight that steams through Scully's bedroom blinds, and only when they are lying in the afterglow of their love does he whisper what he's thought every time he's seen her for the past five years.

"You're an angel, Scully."

His guardian angel, here to protect him from anything or anyone, sent from some beautiful perfect place where nothing is hurt or marred or broken. He traces Scully's shoulder blades, imagining her wings spouting from there and curling around them, downy and pure as fresh snow.

She murmurs back, half asleep. He plants kisses along her hairline, and she giggles a little. His heart swells once more at the sound he's loved for years but had only heard a handful of times before tonight.

He knows he doesn't deserve Dana Scully.

He certainly knows he shouldn't be lying in her bed right now with her in his arms, less than 72 hours away from her being fertilized with an embryo the two of them have created.

But whatever he's done to please the powers-that-be, he prays it's enough to keep this the status quo. Currently, she's happy, and he's happy, and the world seems finally complete. And that's all he's ever wanted.


	7. October 1997 (Redux II)

**A/N:** It always annoyed me that we never got an MSR happy 'you don't have cancer anymore' scene, so I've made one. Mulder definitely read to Scully at some point. I don't own Moby Dick or the X-Files, just to clarify. (Also I can't decide if the last line works or not, sorry)

 **Warning** : So much fluff and cheesiness, it may not be fit for human consumption. Read at your own risk.

* * *

TRINITY HOSPITAL, WASHINGTON, October 1997

I can't think of what to say to Mulder. How to say goodbye. We never say goodbye, ever, and in that sense it's going to be harder to find words for him than it was for Mom and Bill. They've gone to rest, now, because they know as well as I do that they can't do anything more than wait until it's over, which won't be long now. My head aches constantly. I feel light headed every time I move. This is it, I'm at the end of the line. I'm dying.

Of course, I've had a while to adjust to this new reality, and it's why I managed to say goodbye to my family in the first place. But Mulder4's going to be here any minute- he rang as soon as he was out of the hearing- and it may be the last time I ever see him. There's no way I could ever prepare for that, not even with all the time in the world.

A nurse comes in. She gives me that same sympathetic smile I've become so sick of, and I want to scream at her. I don't want lies and fronts and false promises anymore. I want the truth. I want them to tell me without hiding or shying away from it all.

"Dana, you have a visitor."

I raise my eyes.

"Hey, Scully."

My heart and my mind calm. He takes my hand, sits by my side, and my world feels upright again.

xXx

We don't talk for long. There's nothing we know how to say.

Instead, he ends up on my bed, and I'm lying with my cheek on his chest, against the beat of his heart, listening to him read words one hundred and fifty years old that I already know too well. Mom brought the book for me, but I can't read anymore- it hurts my head and my eyes too much.

"' _Delight is to him- a far,far, upward and inward delight- who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self. Delight is to him whose strong arms yet support him, when the ship of this base treacherous world has gone down beneath him. Delight is to him, who gives no quarter in the truth, and kills, burns and destroys all sin though he pluck it out from under the robes of Senators and Judges. Delight- top-gallant delight is to him, who acknowledges no law or lord, but the Lord his God, and is only a patriot in heaven. Delight is to him, whom all the waves of the billows of the seas of the boisterous mob can never shake from this sure Keel of Ages. And eternal delight and deliciousness will be his, who coming to lay him down, can say with his final breath- O Father!- chiefly known to me by Thy rod- mortal or immortal, here I die_.'"

His voice breaks before he can stop it as he reads the next line. After a moment, he swallows and keeps going, one hand in my hair.

"' _I have striven to be Thine, more than to be this world's, or mine own_.'"

He hesitates again- I tighten my grip on him, and feel those three words at my lips before I can stop them.

The door opens.

I look up- it's Doctor Zuckerman.

He doesn't seem surprised or worried by Mulder's presence- I wonder if they extend visitor privileges for dying patients- as he takes a seat next to the bed. Mulder stokes my hair, but otherwise doesn't move, not even straightening or sitting up. I follow his lead and stay put.

"Dana, we'd like to do some more scans."

I close my eyes. I don't want to go back to that room. I thought all that was over, now. Mulder kisses the top of my head, and answers for me.

"Is there any point?"

"The last biopsy indicated a change we weren't expecting. We'd like to check, just in case."

Mulder reads my mind again. "In case of what?"

The doctor pauses. "I'd like to do the tests first. I don't want to give you false hopes."

I shake my head. I'm too tired. I don't want to do all of this again, I just want to leave it all behind me and accept that I'm going to die. They can't treat it, can't remove it, and whatever tiny hope they have is just another lie. The most likely outcome is that the biopsy was wrong, the scans will show nothing has changed, and I will end up in the same place I am now, but even more exhausted.

"Dana, we should try. There's nothing to lose."

"I don't want another scan."

Mulder takes a deep breath and speaks softly to me. "He's right. It's worth a try."

"I'm too tired, Mulder."

"I know. I know. But it'll be, what, twenty minutes?" he asks Dr Zuckerman. "Then we'll come back here and we can find out what Ishmael gets up to next."

He's trying to make me smile. I don't want to remind him I know the story of _Moby Dick_ of by heart anyway, so another reading isn't going to change much. But he sounds so hopeful. And I know that if I don't have the scan, and I die later, he'll never let go of the 'what if'. I owe him this.

I shift and give a nod to Dr Zuckerman. "Okay."

xXx

It's not difficult to lie still in the tunnel. The machine whirs and beeps around me, and I close my eyes until it's done. A nurse helps me into the wheelchair, and takes me back outside, where Mulder's sitting, bouncing his leg.

"Doctor Zuckerman said we could go back now if you want, and wait for the results there."

I shake my head. I know he won't be able to rest with that uncertainty.

"We can wait here."

He takes my hand and I catch him running his eyes over my fingers, my cheekbones, my clavicle. I'm just a shell now, so different from how I was even two months ago. I hope Mulder will remember me as I was when I was healthy, and not like this. Tears escape from his eyes and roll down his cheeks. I want to hold him, tell him it's okay, but it isn't my role anymore.

His voice is weak and cracked with emotion when he speaks. "Scully, I-"

Doctor Zuckerman steps into the waiting room, and his expression immediately shows it's not something that can wait.

"The scan… Dana, we have to tell you that... the scan found no trace of your cancer."

Mulder and I both take a moment to process that.

"Are you sure?" Mulder asks, a flicker of the old levity coming back into his voice.

"The biopsy showed similar results. We've checked multiple times, and… would you like to see it for yourself?"

Of course, he knows I'm a doctor. He knows I can read my own PET scans. That I have to, in order to believe what he's telling me.

I check, double check, triple check everything on the screen. I put more focus into reading it then I have done with anything for the past few weeks. Everything checks out- apart from the distinct lack of a tumour in the centre of my skull.

Cancer can't just disappear. It doesn't work like that. But I can't dispute the science, the hard evidence. It's gone.

"How is that possible?"

My voice sounds weak to my own ears. I feel like I might collapse from the shock of this news, and Mulder, ever ready, grips my shoulder.

"We don't know," Doctor Zuckerman sighs. "We've never seen anything like it... it defies all logical explanation."

I know Mulder and I are thinking the same thing: _was it the chip?_

And I know only I am thinking: _was it God?_

I start to realise what it all means. I am alive. I will still be alive tomorrow, the next day, next week. I can eat and read and listen to music and sit in rental sedans in backwater towns in the middle of nowhere listening to Mulder wax lyrical about cryptids and conspiracy theories, and I will no longer be woken at two in the morning by blood on my pillow or a hammering pain in my head.

I'm going to live.

"Does this..." Mulder swallows, as if he can't bear to even voice the possibility. "Does this mean she's going to be okay?"

"We can't call it yet, but, well, it appears that way so far." He squats in front of the wheelchair and smiles. "Dana, I'm delighted to tell you your cancer is in remission."

If he says anything else I don't hear it. Mulder has his arms around me and I'm clinging back to him, eyes squeezed shut against tears. He's crying, his face buried in my neck, and I can hear him whispering something. My heart pumps with his, telling him _I'm here, I'm here, I'm not going._ He finally draws back and kisses my forehead for a long, long moment. I'm too happy to feel even the slightest self-conscious.

And when he presses his forehead to mine and whispers to me, I forget there's anyone else in the room at all.

" _Yet this is nothing; I leave eternity to you_."


	8. October 1997

**A/N:** It's been a while! I'd like to give an excuse but frankly I don't have one- I'll make it up to you because I'm free until uni now :0 so I'll have a lot of free time to write! This is another cancer arc one, but a happy one, I hope. At least partially inspired by Hayley Kiyoko's _Sleepover_ , which is a great song I'd recommend if you've never heard it. Thanks for continuing to read x

* * *

DANA SCULLY RESIDENCE, MARYLAND, October 1997

Mulder used to tell himself that he did it because she needed his company, not because he was desperately trying to spend as many moments of her rapidly-dwindling life with her as he could. It was futile, but he tried anyway, if only to distract himself from dwelling on the fact that soon he wouldn't be able to do this with her.

Soon, she'd be dead. And when she went, so would everything that made his life bearable.

Never, ever, did he consider her cancer disappearing, and being able to spend an evening with her without the cloud of illness hovering over them.

But that's where they are.

In the months before, they'd started doing it in almost wordless agreement- he'd find an excuse to discuss a case after work, or they'd go for drinks, or they'd decide to go to a movie because, if they were honest, they didn't have anyone else to go with, and going to the cinema was an easy way of being together without discussing anything potentially problematic. Besides, as Scully put once, you can't be an FBI agent investigating the paranormal and _not_ see a film like _Men In Black_.

Sometimes, the nights Mulder liked best, they'd just stay at her apartment and listen to terrible music (turned out Scully had a thing for punk rock) or play cards, and sometimes order pizza. Sometimes it was almost possible to forget about her cancer, watching her smile and joke along with him.

Other nights it was the only thing he could think about. He came over once to find her almost passed out over the sink, blood streaming from her nose, and was only prevented from taking her to the ER when Scully reminded him that there was nothing they could do. Another time, she told him about the chemo and what it did, and he'd started crying over her kitchen table and feeling like an idiot because it was her who was dying, not him.

Some nights she had no appetite, or couldn't smile no matter how hard he tried to make her, and those were the nights that his heart collapsed in on itself as she'd ask him to stay without meeting his eyes, and they'd wake up in each other's arms and not discuss it afterwards.

Tonight she still can't manage it, addressing his shoes as she says _it's late, you're tired, stay here tonight_ , but everything else is different. The last time this happened he hadn't killed a spy in his apartment, or faked his own death, and she had not been saved at the eleventh hour after he almost made a deal with the devil.

It's the second day since she was released from hospital. He's spent the last week with her, never leaving her bedside, irritating and perplexing staff and family alike, but he still doesn't feel ready to go. He can never get enough of her smile, of the way her eyes sparkle with renewed light, or the way she says his name. He never wants to leave. If he could, if she allowed, he'd spend the rest of his life with her, just watching in silent awe from the sidelines.

They don't talk. Mulder is going to offer to take the couch but he knows that she wants him close, so he lies on the bed and waits for her. When she comes out of the bathroom, wrapped in her dressing gown, he's reminded of that night in the hospital right after Penny Northern died- how small she seemed, how fragile.

She's still so thin, so pale. Her appetite is returning, but it'll be a while until her emaciated look goes. He can see her ribs over the top of the dressing gown, almost as prominent as her collarbone, and her blue, thread veins are visible under her paper-like skin. Her hair's still brittle and no longer shines the way it used to, and Mulder's seen the way her legs shake if she's standing for too long. Even with the cancer no longer invading her body, she's still ill, and the signs of its presence are far from gone.

"Okay?" he asks her, sitting up a little.

Scully smiles- properly, but still weakly, and nods. "I'm fine, Mulder. Just tired."

She casts her dressing gown aside and he gets off the bed, hanging it up for her. The fabric smells like her, like vanilla and bubble bath and safety rather than the hospital and death. He fights not to inhale the scent off it.

"Mulder?"

He turns around. She's under the covers, curled up, the way he's learnt she sleeps, and looking at him. She's so small in that big bed.

"Cold?"

"A little," she nods. "Can you…?"

He crosses the room and climbs onto the bed. After a moment, Scully shuffles closer, and he hesitantly places an arm around her, holding her.

"Better?"

"Yeah," she breathes into his chest. Her hand finds his and she holds on tight. Her breathing begins to slow, and she relaxes against him, drifting off to sleep.

Mulder allows himself to think of what it would be like doing this every night, sharing her bed, and realises that this may be the closest he ever gets. The thought sobers him a little, but then Scully mumbles in her sleep, shifting closer to him, and he realises that this is enough, for now.

He kisses her forehead, and reminds himself that two weeks ago, he never dreamed he'd be able to do this again. Tonight is nothing sort of a miracle.

He closes his eyes and hope they never run out of them.


	9. March 2016 (alternate timeline)

**A/N:** It's time for something a little different! This is my take on what happened post-My Struggle II, in a slightly different format than usual. I wanted to try this after reading the amazing Two Missing Agents Presumed Dead on Tumblr, by users bohoartist and piecesofscully- if you haven't read it, go and do so, immediately. I also owe credit to Spooky66 on AO3, who wrote an absolutely adorable fic called Sweet Love of Mine, which firmly convinced me that Sweet Child O' Mine is Mulder's 'Scully song'. Oh- I may have stolen a line from The Force Awakens and my other OTP, too.

 **Disclaimer :** I don't own Sweet Child O' mine or the lyrics. But I sure as hell love Guns And Roses, the ones who do.

* * *

AUDIO RECORDED FROM ROOM #1013, WASHINGTON MEMORIAL HOSPITAL, MARCH 1ST 2016

 _Note_ _: Voices have been identified as Special Agent Fox William Mulder and Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully by FBI Assistant Director Walter Skinner and various other agents of the Bureau, who for security reasons shall remain anonymous._

[AUDIO TRANSCRIPTION BEGINS AT 19:05PM]

FOX MULDER (FM): You're going to save the world, Scully. Again.

DANA SCULLY (DS): Lie still, Mulder. Try to save your energy.

FM: Stop saying that. I'm going, you know it.

DS: No you're not. You're going to get better.

FM: I'm too tired.

DS: No, Mulder… you have to… you have to [ _indistinct_ ]… don't go. Don't go, Mulder, you're all I've got left.*

FM: Scully... [ _Pause._ ] Thank you. For everything.

[ _indistinct_ ]

DS: I'd do it all over again.

FM: You would?

DS: It wasn't all bad. Some of it was pretty good.

FM: Yeah?

DS: Yeah. Every Friday night- do you remember Friday nights?

FM: I always preferred Thursday lunch breaks.

DS: Trawling through a dingy Blockbuster was better than snuggling on your couch?

FM: We were watching movies, Scully. Not snuggling.

DS: I loved Friday nights. I miss them.

FM: Blockbuster's gone out of business.

DS: [ _quiet_ ] Yeah.

FM: You know, my favourite memory of you is that night on the baseball diamond. [ _Pause._ ] Okay, _one_ of my favourite memories of you. I... I was nervous as hell, but you were so beautiful, and you smelt so good, and I saw you laugh so much that night. I knew I'd done something right then.

DS: Something right?

FM: I thought of it as... as a date, I guess. I wanted you to be happy.

DS: To you, our first date was playing baseball?

FM: Yeah. Hey, if you want a more traditional first date, you should probably count that dinner in Hollywood.

DS: I don't think we should've had a traditional first date.

FM: So, what, I can say our first case? In the rain?

DS: Mulder, we barely knew each other.

FM: It was the first time I saw you laugh. And afterwards, in the motel- that had all the elements of a first date.

DS: You're incorrigible.

[ _Both laugh._ ]

FM: Okay, fine. What about Cher?

DS: You're telling me that case in Indiana was a highlight?

FM: Afterwards, at the concert. We danced. You danced with me.

DS: We swayed.

FM: Potato, potahto. I'm counting it. [ _Pause._ ] Come on, Scully, there's got to be something else on your highlights reel.

DS: I guess... that time you remembered my birthday.

FM: I remember your birthday every year.

DS: The first time. When I was sick.

[ _Pause._ ]

FM: I wanted to make it good for you.

DS: So you got me a snowball with a sparkler stuck in it.

FM: You brought this one up, not me.

DS: Okay. Finding the house.

FM: Our house.

DS: Our house.*

FM: Kromer.

DS: Kromer?

FM: First time we shared a bed.

DS: You and I remember Kromer very differently.

FM: Caddyshack.

DS: New Year's.

FM: Christmas 1998.

DS: The haunted house?

FM: When you came over to mine, afterwards.

DS: The Bahamas.

FM: That night on the rocks, looking for Big Blue.

DS: Antarctica. In the Sno-Cat.

[ _Pause._ ]

FM: Emily.

DS: William.*†

[ _Pause._ ]

FM: I wish I'd had longer with you both.

DS: You had to go.

FM: He'd be almost fifteen now.

DS: Yes.

FM: Do you think he remembers us? Remembers you?

DS: I don't know. I hope so.

FM: [ _indistinct- possibly a sob_ ] When you find him, tell him I'm so sorry.

DS: I will. [ _Pause._ ] I'll tell him all about what he would've done with us. How much you would have loved him. How much we both love him, how hard it was for you to go, how it was the hardest thing you ever had to do.

FM: No, that was leaving you.

[ _Long pause._ ]

FM: Scully… I'm going to see you again, right?

DS: Yes. Yes. You'll see me again. And you'll see Samantha, and my mom, and your parents, and Melissa. And William and I will be there soon. You can even kick the Gunmen'sˠ asses for me.

FM: [ _Laughs. Pause._ ] I'll miss you.*

DS: I know. I know… but soon we'll be together and we'll have all the time we could ever need.

FM: Okay.

DS: We deserve it, Mulder. You deserve it.

[ _Pause._ ]

FM: Can you stay with me a while?

DS: Of course.

[ _Rustling, or static caused by corruption of tape._ ]

FM: You're on the wrong side.

DS: I'm sorry. Come here, Mulder, put your head… that's it.

FM: Can you sing something?

DS: You hate my singing voice, Mulder-

FM: No I don't. I don't hate anything about you. Please sing.

[ _Pause._ ]

DS: Okay. Anything in particular?

FM: Your song.

[ _A very long pause._ ]

DS: [ _Singing, quietly._ ] She's got a smile that it seems to me, reminds me of childhood memories, where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky…

FM: [ _indistinct_ ]

DS: …Now and then when I see her face, she takes me away to that special place, and if I stared too long, I'd probably break down and cry. [ _Pause._ ]

FM: Chorus.*

DS: [ _indistinct_ ] Oh, oh, oh, sweet child o' mine. Oh, oh, oh, oh sweet love of mine.

[TRANSCRIPTION ENDS HERE AT ASSISSTANT DIRECTOR SKINNER'S REQUEST]

 _*NB: Very quiet, audio transcription may be erroneous._

 _† Despite thorough analysis of FBI records, there is no record of a 'William' in either of Agents Mulder and Scully's personal or professional lives, save those who were confirmed deceased before this recording._

 _ˠ Possible reference to the publishers of 'The Lone Gunman' magazine, John Fitzgerald Byers, Melvin Frohike and Richard Langly, believed to be close friends and contacts of Agent Mulder, presumed deceased after a bio-terrorist attack in 2002._


	10. February 1999

A/N: That trailer, guys! This isn't anything based off that, mainly because speculation just hurts my brain, but hopefully you'll enjoy it anyway. I need to get these up on AO3 at some point, and I'm also starting a multi-chap X-Files fic, so that's a few things for the to-do list. I had this idea while playing badminton. My muse isn't very creative.

* * *

J. EDGAR HOOVER BUILDING, FEBRUARY 1999

Fox Mulder is in love.

He newly realises this midway through a badminton game at the headquarters' sports hall, watching his partner wipe sweat from her forehead before tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear.

"Score?"

He doesn't even notice that he's been asked a question until Scully glances at him and raises an eyebrow.

"Sorry?" Mulder calls over the net.

"What's your score?"

He doesn't know. Does it look like he's been paying attention?

"Three," Scully fills in for him, flashing him a grin over her shoulder before readying for the other team's serve.

She's happy today- maybe she's just as eager to skip another hour of background checks and spend time with him as he is to spend it with her. Even as he thinks this, he knows he's probably imagining things, interpreting events everything to match what he wants to believe. It wouldn't be the first time.

Mulder's paid enough attention to the game to know they're losing, probably by a considerable margin, but he doesn't really mind. The whole thing was Scully's idea, anyway, and although he'd been surprised when she suggested a game with Agent Peterson and his partner, he'd been happy to say yes- losing an hour's worth of pay is more than fair trade for spending that time with Scully.

Scully, who is one of the main reasons they're losing. She's quick to cover ground and her reflexes are just as honed as his- she would say they're better- but her height's putting them both at a disadvantage. Without heels, she really is tiny. He looks at her and imagines what it would be like to kiss her with a foot between them- would he bend over, or lift her up? He can't remember how he worked it out on the Queen Anne. Knowing Scully, she's find a way to even it out herself.

He's in love, he acknowledges, as he watched her jump to return a hit. He's fucking head over heels.

"Mulder-!"

Something fast and hard hits him right in the eye. He falls, more out of shock than anything else, hearing his racquet clatter on the ground as he covers his face. Okay, _ow_.

* * *

Dana Scully is in love. She realises this all over again as she crouches next to her complete idiot of a partner, who has just taken a shuttlecock to the face despite his frequent insistence that _I'm always paying attention, Scully, you don't give me enough credit_ … God, he can be so absurd when he wants to be.

"Mulder? You okay?"

"Yep. Yeah… just fine."

He uncovers his eye- it's red, tearing up- and tries to wave away her attentive hands. As per usual, she ignores him, taking his face in her hands and holding it to the light.

Agent Peterson calls over. "Sorry, Agent Mulder!"

Mulder mutters a few choice words before replying. "My fault, don't worry about it."

He manages to shake Scully off and gets to his feet with only a slight stagger. He doesn't bother with the racquet.

"Without waiting for a reply, he grabs his water bottle and heads towards the doors. Scully shrugs apologetically over the net before jogging after him.

"Mulder, that was rude."

"My eye stings like a bitch, Scully."

"Then let me look at it."

They stop in the corridor, and Mulder pauses, looking down at her.

"I'll sit down."

Being less than average height does have its drawbacks Mulder takes a seat on one of the chairs next to the wall and lets her stand in-between his legs so she can check his eye.

He's wearing shorts. If she moves forward just an inch, her leg will be making contact with that bulge that's becoming more and more difficult to ignore with each passing second. She'll be able to feel his heat through the thin material, feel how big he is, how solid, how damn… okay, no. Stop. Jesus, Dana, keep it together. Deep breaths.

It doesn't work. She realises that even though he's an idiot- an idiot who spaces out in the middle of a badminton game probably dreaming of aliens or jackalopes or Flukemen- he's her idiot. And, even tending to an eye injury caused by a shuttlecock he should've hit, she loves him.

Loves him like crazy.

* * *

Her eyes. They're the most beautiful thing Mulder has ever seen. They remind him of the colour of the sky above the clouds, of how the sun would glimmer on the sea all those years ago back at the Vineyard, of the world viewed underwater, gliding through weightlessness.

He sometimes wishes he could tell her this, tell her that every time he meets her eyes it's like… like a switch has been flicked, like nothing can go wrong, like the world makes sense again. But every time he's tried to tell her he's either said it wrong, or he's been interrupted, or Scully has just dismissed him.

By now, he's learnt how to stop himself from saying anything.

But that's only under normal circumstances, and right now she's looking directly into his eyes (in an entirely medicinal manner, granted) and her hair's a messy ponytail and still breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling in the most distracting way above him. He's actually glad for the throbbing pain; it helps him focus on his eye rather than Scully.

In theory, at least.

* * *

She tilts his head towards the light with a gentle touch, one hand under his chin and the other resting on his hair. His stubble is deliciously rough against her fingers, sending a shiver through her entire nervous system, setting it alight. When she strokes his fringe away from his eyes it's a perfect contrast, soft and warm and silky, and she has to force herself to stop before it becomes obvious she's just indulging herself.

Really, this whole charade is just self-indulgence. They both know his eye's going to be fine, but she has to check. Just in case. Because she's a medical doctor, and that's what medical doctors do- look after their patients.

That's what she tells herself as the warmth of Mulder's skin settles in her bones, as her hands find their resting place on his skull, as she tries and fails not to imagine how soft his lips would be on hers. Mulder clears his throat.

How long has she been gazing into his eyes?

* * *

"Am I going to live, doc?"

He tries to joke. Tries to pretend he didn't see… whatever it was in Scully's expression just then. Hopes it works.

"It might bruise a little, but hopefully no black eyes. Wouldn't want to be explaining that one to Kersh."

Did she even realise? Maybe he just imagined it, maybe it didn't mean anything. Or maybe she's just as good at pretending as he hopes he is. It's then he begins to question why he's pretending at all. Why doesn't he just get up, kiss her, invite her to dinner? Why doesn't he just say, 'hey, Scully, I love you'?

He knows why. Because if he says that, if he kisses her, if they let that happen, let _them_ happen… everything will change. Sometimes he wants to go back and tell her when she came back from her abduction, or when she was in hospital with cancer, because then there was less to lose. Now, he is scared, and he knows that they may've lost their chance.

But he wouldn't change a thing. She's the best thing that's ever happened to him, and he's not going to take that lightly.

* * *

He gets up, and gives her that smile- the one that's not a grin or a smirk but an actual smile, one where it looks like he's about to laugh but stops before it gets there.

"I can't believe you dragged me into this, Scully."

"You didn't have to come."

"I wanted to."

It's softer than it needs to be, and it hits them at the same time. Mulder and Scully don't talk like that. They don't say things to each other with that tone. Not unless one of them is dying, or has almost died, or may never see the other again. They think it, they show it, but they don't say it. Not under normal circumstances.

Mulder catches himself. "How else could you get those high shots?"

She bites the inside of her cheek to stop a smile. Mulder sighs, a little theatrically, then shrugs.

"Back to work."

She wishes he meant the basement. One day, maybe, 'work' will come to mean that again- the two of them, flying across the country, following leads, asking questions no one else will. Takeout in motels at 11pm and unnecessary slideshows.

As she follows Mulder down to the changing rooms, she realises that if you'd told her on that first day, almost seven years ago, she would've been glad to see that door again, she would've laughed. Now she can't imagine it any other way.


	11. January 1999 (Tithonus)

A/N: It feels like ages since I updated, I'm sorry! I still need to take all of this over to AO3, but I guess I'm too busy procrastinating. This is sort of a post-ep/missing scene thing for Tithonus (which I still haven't actually watched in full), and I'm not really sure what it is- please feel free to drop suggestions in the comments or my inbox, my brain doesn't want to give me inspiration. [Also, is it January 3rd yet? Season 11 is looking amazing.] Enjoy!

* * *

NEW YORK CITY, JANUARY 1999

She asks if love lasts forever.

Fellig says no, and she tries not to think of the day in the future when she won't remember Mulder's name.

When she is shot, all she can think is that maybe Fellig was right, maybe you can have too much life. Maybe dying is a sad necessity to prevent all the pain. She doesn't doubt that he's telling the truth, now. The look in his eyes when he told her he'd forgotten his wife, or when he told her she was going to die, was too raw to be a lie.

He's a haunted man.

xXx

Part of her brain recognises she's been shot, and it is processed in a distant, detached way, as she slides down the wall onto the floor. There's blood at the back of her throat. Her head feels weak, empty, like she's about to faint.

She is no longer in control of where her mind goes. Even as she wants to focus on shouting for help, or applying pressure to her wound, or -is that Ritter?- she can't, her mind won't let her. It drifts to something else, somewhere else, someone else.

 _Mulder?_

"I'm here, Scully." He smiles and brushes her hair out of her eyes.

 _It hurts._

"Aw, you've gone through worse. It's a flesh wound, that's all." The humour and love in his voice let her know he's lying. But he's trying to comfort her anyway.

 _I'm dying._

"It's okay," he whispers, stroking her cheek with his thumb, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. "It's okay, you'll be fine."

 _Where are you?_

He frowns, amused. "I'm right here."

 _You're not real._

"There she is. My little skeptic."

 _Mulder._

"I'm coming to you. Hold on for me."

 _I can't._

He flickers in her vision, an image that dissolves and weakens before solidifying anew.

 _Don't go._

Mulder takes her hand. "Don't look."

 _Mulder, don't go._

"Close your eyes."

She is powerless not to. She feels everything in slow motion; the pain in her stomach, the hand tightening around hers, the cool breeze over her face. The darkness creeps in painfully slowly, too, wiping out the last traces of consciousness as she surrenders to it with no more struggle.

xXx

Every second that passes is another second he spends wondering if he can survive without her, wondering how he will cope in a world which she's not in. He hasn't had any updates in over two hours. She's lost so much blood, and the bullet could have torn through any number of organs, and he tries not to imagine her scared, bleeding out against the wall in that darkroom- but who wouldn't be, with a gaping wound in their stomach- and more than anything he tries to ignore the voice that screams _YOU WEREN'T THERE_ , _SHE NEEDED YOU_ , over and over like a broken record.

He remembers Christmas Eve, in that nightmare of a house, remembers finding her- was it her? Or was that just another hallucination?- on the floor, covered in her own blood, pale and weak. He remembers thinking that if she had died, he would've been glad that she pulled the trigger on him beforehand. He wonders if there's any point in staying alive when the only person you love is gone.

Somehow, he sleeps. Scully haunts every thought, some of the images better than others. In one she is sat with him under the stars, holding his hand, and he turns to kiss her hair and everything feels right. In another they are in the same position, but she is coated in blood and whimpering his name and he watches as she coughs up red bubbles, as her eyes go dull and her pulse stops fluttering, powerless to do anything.

When he wakes up her name is on his lips and he can't bring himself to ask anyone for news unless his dream comes true.

xXx

Mulder is there when she wakes up. He looks tired. Sad. Maybe it's because she hung up on him. Did he call her back? Maybe he flew all the way up here to tell her in person. That would be just like him.

"Sorry."

Her voice sounds hoarse. She must've been asleep for a while.

Mulder seems surprised. "For what?"

"I didn't… I didn't say goodbye." She murmurs.

"You didn't need to." He smiles softly, stroking her forehead. "You're still here."

"You're here."

"Yeah, I'm here too." The creases on his forehead are still there, but he looks happier, now. Lighter. "Are you okay? No pain?"

This man really is crazy. She finds herself giggling at his question- why, she's not sure, but it's so funny that she doesn't stop to think about it. But Mulder grins back, so at least she's done something right.

"You're high, Scully. Go to sleep."

She doesn't want to sleep. She wants to stay awake with him. Maybe they can play rummy, or go fish. For whatever reason, she doesn't seem to be able to move very much, so they'd have to stay here, wherever here is- she's in a bed, but not her bed, because her bed doesn't smell like this. And her bedroom walls aren't this colour. Oh, Mulder's talking. What's he saying?

"…when you wake up. I'm not going anywhere."

"Mulder?"

"You've been through a hell of a lot, Scully. Just close your eyes."

 _Close your eyes. Close your eyes. Close…_

"Fellig…" She remembers something, tries to sit up, but her body won't obey. It slips away, and only one thing remains. "I'm dying…?"

"No!" Mulder's voice is firm, startling. "No. You're not going to die. You've been in surgery for hours and they've only just let me see you, and I thought you were dead. For _hours_ , Scully, and I thought you were going to die but you _haven't_ , so don't you dare give up on me now, don't you _dare_."

"Mulder, what happened?" It's all a blur. None of it makes sense. He was there in the darkroom, but he couldn't have been because he was in Washington, but then why is he here, where _is_ here-

"You were shot, Scully." Mulder's voice is quiet again. "Fellig died on the scene and you-"

"You told me not to look. And you held my hand." She continues, even as Mulder shakes his head. "Fellig couldn't die. He died for me. He did what the nurse did, oh God, Mulder-"

Carefully, soothingly, Mulder strokes her hair, shh-ing her.

"It's okay. It's okay. You're going to be fine, it's the medication. Close your eyes, Scully, just trust me."

Her eyes are so heavy. They close of their own volition, and before she lets the darkness take her back under she whispers to him.

"Don't go."

"I won't." She hears him promise. "I won't."

And she believes him.


	12. June 1998

**A/N:** Has it really been that long? Wow, I'm sorry- I've been working on my AO3 fic which is taking a lot of time, and various other things have been happening. I'm currently scouring through notebooks to find things I deem postable, and I am planning on updating more regularly. I hope no one's finding the chapter order confusing, moving chapters around into chronological order is very difficult, I apologise! As always, I don't really know what this is or if it fits into canon, and I'm guessing at dates, but I hope you enjoy! x

* * *

VIRGINIA, JUNE 1998

It's been so long. Days, she thinks, but how many exactly she's not sure. It's hard to tell in this disorientated world, where she's either hungry or tired or scared, or a combination of all three. Her surroundings are dark, a dreamland, full of shadows and spectres and loud, loud noises. When the drugs in her system render her barely conscious she can almost convince herself it's all a nightmare.

She's mainly lucid now, but that's worse- she's fully aware of the cold seeping into her bones from the metal chair she's strapped to. It's quiet, quieter than usual, and it's hard to judge time but she's sure they've never left her alone for so long before. Maybe they've given up with her, left her to die. Scully finds herself almost hoping that's the case: no more questions, no more fear.

Then the door opens with a clang. She jerks away instinctively, as much as the restraints allow, and the buckles jangle in the silence.

"Scully?"

 _Mulder?_

It can't be. Of course, she knew he'd be trying to get to her the whole time, doing everything he could to find her, but even Mulder couldn't perform miracles. But she's been wrong before, and at this point she doesn't care either way. All this time she's been thinking of him, desperate for his presence so he could hold her and keep her safe.

"Mulder?" Her throat is dry, and her quiet voice catches painfully.

He hears her, though. "Scully, it's okay, it's me. You're safe now."

 _Oh, thank God._

Footsteps, the sound of fumbling- something clatters to the floor- and then the lights come on, bright and dazzling. She pulls away as much as the restraints allow, her eyes fighting to adjust as she hears Mulder's sharp intake of breath.

"Oh, Scully."

He steps towards her, carefully, as if getting to close might break her. He looks terrified, and she can imagine why- she must look terrible, strapped to the chair, wired up, bruised and pale in just her vest and underwear.

"Have they hurt you?"

That's the thing- apart from keeping her here, strapped down, and the initial struggle, they haven't. They've threatened her, sure, but never followed through. However bad she looks, she knows it could be much worse.

"I'm fine, Mulder."

"You'll be fine when I get you out of here." He undoes the strap around her neck first, pausing for a moment to cup her cheek.

His touch is so gentle, a sharp contrast to the way her captors had treated her. Although she doesn't want to admit it, Mulder's hands are warm, healing, familiar. She finds herself leaning into his palm, taking a moment to breathe. He's here. He's here and she's safe.

Mulder holds her gaze for a long moment before puling away to unstrap her right arm and her waist. As he removes the various monitors, separating her from this prison she's been in for so long, alone, the feeling of safety only increases. Each touch of his hand reminds her that it's over, that he'll protect her now.

"What's this?"

Mulder's moved over to her left arm, and he raises his eyes from the bandaged area with blatant worry in his expression.

"An IV line. They've been keeping me drugged."

"Will it come out?"

"Yes. Yeah, unwrap the bandage."

He's tender, but even so Scully's finding it hard not to cry out. The skin under the dressing is sore- the cannula site's infected, has been practically since they put it in, and the movement is only irritating it. Scully doesn't dare look- she knows it's bad, and her suspicion is only confirmed when she hears Mulder swallow as he discards the bandage.

"This doesn't look good, Scully."

"I know. It's probably infected."

"Won't it hurt if I pull it out?"

"It's got to come out, Mulder."

As it always does when he knows she's right, his jaw tenses and his eyes show his surrender. There's fear there, too, this time, fear of hurting her, of what's happened to her, of what she's not telling him. But he takes hold of the catheter all the same.

"How do I do this?"

"Just pull it out slowly, keep it in line with my arm if you can. Once it's out it might start bleeding so it's going to need pressure on it, and a Band-Aid if there is one."

He's pale, and he takes her hand, squeezing her fingers. "If it hurts-"

"Then just keep going." His lower lip turns white as he bites it, looking away. "Mulder."

He takes a deep breath and raises his eyes again.

"You can do this."

He nods, giving her hand one last squeeze before taking hold of the line again and giving it a gentle pull. The pain flares up immediately as the line drags along her inflamed skin, burning with every tiny movement. Despite her gritted teeth, a small cry still escapes Scully's lips.

"Scully-"

"Keep going," she manages to get out. "Please."

Mulder's close to tears- she can hear it in his voice. "I'm sorry."

He pulls the rest of the line out as fast as he can, and as soon as it's removed he immediately applies pressure. It's hard to be gentle, but he's still trying, and that makes Scully feel even worse about the sobs of pain that raise up from her throat.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" he keeps whispering, stroking her hair with his free hand. "Can you hold it? I'll grab a Band-Aid."

Scully nods, covering Mulder's hand with her own as she tenses her jaw. Mulder hurries to find a Band-Aid in the drawers and cupboards that until now Scully has only heard, not seen. Soon he finds a dressing, and he removes the backing to press it to the exit point.

It'll hurt like hell to take it off, but for now the contact is bearable. Desperate to get out of the chair as soon as possible, she manages to unstrap her own left arm while Mulder removes the restraints around her ankles. She's finally free.

She tries to get up immediately, but her legs don't seem to agree and refuse to take her weight. Mulder catches her, hooking his arms under hers and lifting her back up to sit on the chair.

"Mulder-" she tries to protest, but he cuts her off.

"You're in no state to walk. Have they fed you?"

It's hard to work out when she last ate. The drugs make judging time and reality nearly impossible, and although her stomach is aching so is the rest of her body.

"I don't know. They might have given me something through the IV."

"Either way, you haven't been on your feet for almost four days."

 _Four days?_

"We need to get you checked out. There are paramedics outside, I'll go get them."

Fear stabs through her spine, cold and quick, making her heart skip a beat.

"No." She's as surprised at her outburst as he looks. "I… don't leave me here."

His expression softens and he shakes his head. "I won't."

He removes his trench coat and wraps it around her- it's ridiculously big, large enough that it's like a blanket. The thick fabric traps warmth around her, a cocoon that surrounds her with Mulder's familiar scent.

He lifts her with one arm around her back and the other under her legs as if he's done it a hundred times before, or it's programmed into his genetic code.

Scully closes her eyes and allows herself to relax into his arms, her body calming as it realises she's okay, she's safe now. Mulder won't let anyone hurt her.

"It's not far to the ambulance, okay? I'll do the talking. I won't leave you alone."

The inbuilt reaction raises its head as it always does, protesting, but the words die on her lips. Instead she shuts down that part of her brain that fights against Mulder's protection, that part that always insists she's fine. This time she isn't fine. She's shaken and exhausted and pain is beginning to creep into her awareness. Through this whole ordeal the only thing that kept her sane is the thought of seeing him again, and now he's here, allowing her to let go. So she does- she accepts his support, resting her cheek against his heartbeat and letting her eyes drift shut.

There's a hum of activity and a sharp brightness as he takes her outside- she can hear sirens, running footsteps, and people shouting, but it's too much for her addled brain to understand. She tucks herself closer to Mulder's chest, seeking his calm in the centre of the storm.

She hears someone approach, and feels Mulder tighten his grip on her. His voice rumbles against her as he talks to them.

"It's okay, I've got her."

Scully opens her eyes and sees a blocky white shape in the distance- an ambulance?

"She hasn't slept or eaten properly for a while, and I think she's dehydrated- there was a drip in her left arm, they were keeping her drugged. The injection site looks infected…" Ever so carefully, Mulder lies her down somewhere soft. It must be a bunk in the ambulance. "She's in some pain from that arm."

"Okay sir, we'll take her right away." At the paramedic's voice Scully's eyes snap open, but Mulder immediately silences her fears as he takes her hand.

"Can I ride with you?"

"You're not staying for the investigation?"

"Someone should stay with her. I'm her partner."

The paramedic nods and checks Scully over before hoping out to head round to the cab. Mulder raises Scully's hand to his lips and strokes her sweat-matted hair back from her forehead with the other. He murmurs comforting words of nonsense against her skin as the ambulances rumbles to life beneath her.

"Oh, I forgot." He rummages in his coat pocket before removing a familiar chain. Scully smiles as he kisses her fingers before pressing the necklace into her palm. "Thought you might want this back."

His voice is light, deceptively carefree, but his eyes are shining with truth. _I love you_. Scully only hopes he can read hers, replying in kind.


End file.
